


Lyric Poetry

by FromFanToStan



Category: One Direction (Band), zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M, Post-Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-14 04:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16485644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromFanToStan/pseuds/FromFanToStan
Summary: Then there was nothing for Harry to do but stop having sex with Zayn and stop speaking to Zayn, and stop acting the fool for Zayn, because he had really let himself get placed at a disadvantage, and this was something that Harry Styles did not like at all.Harry and Zayn love each other. Too bad the only way they can say it is through their song lyrics.





	1. The Beauty and the Terror

**Author's Note:**

> “Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. No feeling is final.”
> 
> ― Rainer Maria Rilke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is taken from the poet Rainer Maria Rilke: “Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.”

**Chapter One: The Beauty and the Terror**

**Zayn **

Zayn came from a good-looking family, to be honest. His cousins were good-looking, his dad was good-looking, and most people seemed to find him fit as well. Still, it wasn’t until he became a member of One Direction that he discovered that men were beautiful.

It was mad, really, the way he went from auditioning to being in the finals of The X Factor to being in a band. They were all just kids, especially Harry. Spending so much time around boys close to his own age, fit boys, did something to him, making him notice them in a way that he never had. Louis had beautiful eyes and the roundest, sweetest bum. Zayn was always pinching it or rubbing it, getting Louis to run from him and hit him back across his bum. Then he got close to Niall, who was the happiest person Zayn had ever met. He didn’t find Niall as beautiful as Louis, but he was cute, so cute, and he was sunny in a way that Zayn loved, being a bit moody himself. He found himself slinging an arm around Niall and giggling with him. 

Liam was next, with his beautiful smile and his voice--his voice! He had a deep speaking voice and a vocal range that Zayn secretly thought was slightly above his own--and he was supposed to be the one with the range. Liam was always so sincere and earnest and kind to Zayn. The other boys were mischievous, but Liam was serious. Zayn liked that if he wanted a serious answer to a serious question, he could always ask Liam.

 _Harry_. Harry was a bit posh and a bit spoiled, Zayn thought. He was the one who cried when things were wrong, which Zayn privately found a bit immature. But Harry was gorgeous. He had the most beautiful curly brown hair, a light brown that Zayn wanted to touch. It looked like it would be really soft and silky, so Zayn didn’t touch it, reasoning that if he started it would be like cigarettes and he wouldn’t be able to stop.

It wasn’t just his beautiful hair, though. Harry had amazing green eyes, and when he looked at Zayn it made him feel like looking away. Harry had a knowing look about him when he wasn’t being a baby. He could talk dirty, and it was thrilling hearing dirty words and dirty thoughts coming out of those red cherub lips. It didn’t help either that Harry was completely uninhibited and walked around the house naked any time he liked. He was just a boy, almost completely free of facial or body hair, not like Zayn, already able to grow a beard at 17, but Harry had a bush. It was something that someone so boyish had such a grownup knob, wasn’t it? It gave Zayn a stomachache. Harry was like a poem, and didn’t Zayn always want to be an English teacher?

* * *

** Harry **

Harry would never have said, but he knew he was going to be a star. When he and the other boys, whom he had named One Direction, came in third on X Factor, he had to exercise all his self control. He was sure they would win. They were fit and they could sing, and their voices sounded good, like they were meant to sing together. He didn’t mind being put in a group. It was better than being alone, because Harry always liked company, and the boys were funny and talented. He noticed Louis first--how could you help but notice Louis? He was loud, and he would say anything. He wasn’t scared of Simon or anyone. Louis never took anything seriously, and it made Harry a little hot every time Louis said something cheeky on camera. Harry liked boys, always had done since he first hit puberty and got hit on by a fit football player in his form. He found out he liked it, liked it plenty, and he wouldn’t mind rubbing off with Louis. He had such a pretty bum and pretty legs. He wasn’t the best singer, though. That was Zayn.

 _Zayn_. Harry was friendly and charming and could talk to anyone, but Zayn tied his tongue in knots. He was the prettiest person Harry had ever seen. They were together all the time, and Zayn always looked perfect. Harry’s face was always breaking out or threatening to, even if he used the cream the doctor gave him and watched everything he ate and drank liters and liters of water. Zayn never had a zit, not one, even though he smoked, and when Harry could sneak a look at him up close he saw why.

Zayn didn’t have pores that Harry could see. His skin was completely smooth and flawless. He could tell from his accent that he was working class, and he dressed working class, but his face was so posh. Perfect white teeth. The longest eyelashes Harry had ever seen. Big doe eyes. Prettiest smile in the world. Harry was used to being the cute one, but Zayn was just pretty in a way that made Harry’s stomach hurt. He wanted to kiss him, with tongue, and then he wanted to get a hand down his pants and make him hard. And then he wanted to drop to his knees and suck him off. He had to make Zayn like him.

Zayn was like a Shakespeare sonnet. He wanted to write a sonnet about his eyes, if only he could write sonnets. He wanted to draw his profile, if only he could draw. Even his name was perfect. Zayn. Not dumb little Harry, but _Zayn_. He was just cool.

* * *

** Zayn **

Harry was making it hard to concentrate, and they had so much to do. He was always asking Zayn something, and then listening to his answer like Zayn was saying something important. He talked sex to Zayn; it was embarrassing sometimes. He didn’t want to look at him when he was talking dirty, but something about Harry’s clear gaze forced him to stare back. Harry was so fit, but he was so young.

Zayn found himself looking at Harry when he was talking, watching as he gestured with his hands. His _hands_. They were big, but his fingers were long and a bit delicate. There was something about Harry that was delicate, that made Zayn want to treat him like a girl, but he had never heard a girl say the nasty things Harry would say. Once they started having fans, lots of fans, Harry would lean into Zayn so that his bottom lip would brush the outer rim of Zayn’s ear before whispering in his deep, slow voice: ‘Zaynie, don’t look. Don’t look! Don’t you dare look, you’re so naughty. Are you looking?”

“Haz. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be not looking at!” he would protest.

“There’s a girl, Zayn. She’s wearing a clingy pink jumper, and you can see her nipples. Fuck, I’d like to lick those nipples right now. Wouldn’t you, Zayn? Her tits are so perky. I bet she’d let each of us have one. Are you good at sharing, Zaynie?”

He was such a dirty boy, and nobody would believe Zayn if he said. Whenever an adult was around, or they were on camera, or with fans, butter wouldn’t melt in Harry’s mouth. He turned into the angel he appeared to be. It made Zayn crazy. People always thought he was the bad boy, but he was so good compared to Harry. Harry made him want to watch porn and write dirty limericks about Harry’s dick. Zayn was pretty sure he shouldn’t think about Harry’s dick so much, but it was out all the time. It was impossible not to notice.

* * *

** Harry **

Harry wasn’t sure if he liked girls better than boys, and Zayn made it harder to choose, but there were so many girls on tour. So many. Harry had always been able to pull, both sexes, but just the sheer numbers were overwhelming--and the girls back home were cute but these girls were hot, all silky and sultry and sweet-smelling. Harry noticed Zayn noticing them too. It gave him the idea, all the girls and thinking about sex and Zayn. The first time he slipped into Zayn’s bed they were on the tour bus. “Can’t sleep, Z. Can I kip with you?”

Zayn as always was mostly asleep, but he just grunted and moved over. Harry preferred being Little Spoon, but since Zayn turned his back to him, and the skin on his back was as smooth and poreless as his face, Harry didn’t mind. He snuggled up close, resisting the urge to lick a stripe from the middle of Zayn’s back to the top of his neck where his dark dark hair curled slightly. Ummm, he smelled good, of tobacco and spice and Zayn’s own smell that Harry found delicious. Big Spoon with Z was the best, to be honest.

After that, he just slipped in with Zayn every night, and when they had their first hotel stop, he followed Zayn into his room, bag and all.

“What are you doing, Haz?” Zayn looked at him from under his lashes. Harry blushed, because Zayn, but he was determined.

“We sleep together, Z. That’s the rule. It helps me go to sleep. You’re warm but it’s like you’re dead cuz you never move. I love sleeping with you.”

Zayn blushed a little at that, and Harry thought for the first time that he might be having an effect on Zayn too.

Harry and Zayn never talked, though. Just ask Zayn.

* * *

** Zayn **

Zayn recalls exactly the first time Harry kissed him. They were at a bar, of course they were, in New York City the night before they played Madison Square Garden for the first time. Harry didn’t usually drink the night before a show, really none of them did because they were too young and well managed, but it was New York and MSG and it was Harry who said, “C’mon Z we’re always good and tomorrow night is a big fucking deal, and you know they’ll serve us,” and Zayn said yeah I’m in. They had fruity drinks because they didn’t know what to order. The drinks tasted like lollipops but after three Zayn knew he was drunk because everything got bright, especially Harry. 

He was waiting for the loo when Harry came round the corner looking determined. He grabbed Zayn by his ears, mashed his mouth against Zayn’s, and shoved his tongue deep into Zayn’s mouth. It wasn’t sexy exactly, but Zayn got hard anyway. He knew Harry could feel it because Harry had his whole body pressed against Zayn’s, and they were both sweaty and panting and hard. He pulled his head back and looked in Harry’s eyes. “Let’s go back to the hotel, Haz.” Harry nodded, oddly solemn, and that was how it started. Zayn wrote about it later in his writing notebook, using code like “E” for Harry Edward Styles, and “hit each other” for kissed.

* * *

** Harry **

Harry would never forget the first night he got to touch Zayn Malik almost everywhere he wanted to. It was the night before they played Madison Square Garden, and he got Zayn to go out just with him. He doesn’t know how he did it, just that he had slept in the same bed with Zayn for months barely touching him and it had to stop. 

He made up his mind to kiss him, and he thought he’d follow him into the loo of the bar, but Zayn was waiting his turn outside. He was leaning against the wall, looking pensive the way he did, and Harry had the impulse to grab his head and kiss him, and he did it. He always did things like that, on impulse, and then later he would wonder what he had been thinking, but this time it was right. He didn’t know how to kiss Zayn, how to kiss anyone he wanted that badly, but he just did it anyway, the way he always had. It wasn’t good exactly, but it was great, and after a minute they stopped, and Zayn looked at him and said “Let’s go back to the hotel.” And Harry texted Paul they were ready to go back. Paul answered “5 minutes,” and then Harry grabbed Zayn’s hand and pulled him through the crowded warehouse. He held on tight in case Zayn changed his mind. By the time they got outside the car was already there, and then Harry had to wait until they were back to the hotel and up the elevator and in the room. He had never waited so hard in his life.

Once he got Zayn in the room, he stopped and stared at him. He wanted to do everything at once, kiss Zayn, and take off both their clothes, and suck Zayn’s cock, but not just those obvious things that he’d done before with other boys and girls. He wanted to suck his toes, and lick between them, and circle Zayn’s slim ankles with his hands and pull Zayn toward him so he could watch him get closer. He wanted to touch every inch of him, find out what would make him gasp. He wanted to kiss his eyelids softly and run his hands through his hair. He wanted to rub him everywhere, first with his fingertips, and then with his palms, and then with his lips. He wanted to devour Zayn. He wanted to worship him. It was intense, and it paralyzed him with desire and terror. His heart shook and sang with it.

* * *

** Zayn **

Once Harry got him to his room, he seemed to have done all he knew to do, and then he just stared at Zayn with his mouth open. It wasn’t sexy--nothing about this had been sexy exactly--but it was a force, like there was nowhere to go but into it. So Zayn smiled at Harry, slipped a hand around to the back of his head, up under his silky hair, and another around to the back of his waist where the skin was soft, and then Zayn kissed Harry gently on the lips. Time was slow and easy for a second, but then Harry made a noise from deep in his throat, and time sped up. Zayn’s kiss seemed to wake Harry up, remind him what he was doing, and then he was on Zayn like a fever, pushing him onto the bed and pulling off his boots and yanking at his clothes. Zayn thought he was going to come before Harry could get his pants down, and he started helping, just pulling on anything he could reach and fumbling with buttons and snaps, and finally, finally, they were naked. 

Zayn had seen Harry naked a hundred times, but never like this, never with glassy, heavy-lidded eyes and a hard cock and a flush in his cheeks and on his chest. He looked so beautiful that Zayn felt...fervent. He wanted to touch him everywhere, find out what would make him make that noise again, from deep in his throat. He hesitated in his want, thinking about where to touch first and with what. Harry took the hesitation and used it to devour him.

For the rest of his life, Zayn would remember that night and the joy of being desired by this beautiful boy. Years later, if he thought about it, it made his heart race and his groin tingle. He had felt like he was being eaten alive. He first came when Harry wrapped one of his big hands with its delicate fingers around Zayn’s cock. Zayn looked down, and then unexpectedly, suddenly he was coming, and Harry was licking it all off his hand and Zayn’s stomach, and five minutes later he was hard again and sucking Harry’s cock with enthusiasm if not skill. And so it went for hours until finally they both passed out. In the morning, Harry was gone, and Zayn wrote everything in his notebook because he didn’t want to forget.

* * *

** Harry **

Harry knew that he would have to be very very careful with Zayn. Zayn was the most emotional of them all, and Harry knew when he was honest with himself that he was the coldest, that he lived in his body and by its needs. He wanted Zayn more than he had ever wanted anyone. He wanted to fuck him and to be fucked by him, and he wanted to count his eyelashes and give him a manicure and take complete and excellent care of him. But he didn’t know anything beyond that, and Zayn was the best of all of them, Harry thought, the one who always noticed how everyone felt and thought of others before himself. He had the most open smile and the biggest heart, and Harry would never forgive himself if he hurt Zayn, never. He woke up the morning of Madison Square Garden to Zayn naked beside him, and his eyes filled with tears. He would not fuck this boy up. He had never cared about anyone for more than five minutes outside his family. He was going to save Zayn from him. That was all there was to it.

He looked at Zayn’s beautiful sleeping face for a minute before jumping up for the shower. He didn’t worry about being quiet; Zayn could sleep through anything. He slipped out of the room and headed down for breakfast, feeling virtuous. What a fucking day this was.

And that is why, after the amazing show at Madison Square Garden, when Taylor Swift came backstage to meet all of them, and she gave Harry the look, he gave her the look back. They partied all night together, and then she was his girlfriend, whatever that meant, for long enough to dispel any rumors about Harry that fans may have started. If a little bit of his heart sang a funeral dirge to what might have been, Harry was too busy to notice.

* * *

** Zayn **

There were things to do after Madison Square Garden, and he was reminded by Harry’s flirting and hanging out with Taylor that he had a girlfriend, a beautiful girl. As soon as he could he went back to her. If Zayn was bothered that Harry acted like their night together hadn’t happened, he filed it away somewhere, to be taken out when he was alone and wanting a wank. It was amazing sex, and Zayn liked sex very much. He realized that he maybe wasn’t completely heterosexual, as he had always assumed, and he resolved that he would see if he liked boys other than Harry whenever he got the chance. And then it was the holidays, and time passed as it does, and then he had a chance to see how he felt about other boys. It turned out that maybe Harry was one of a kind for him. He got off, but he had to close his eyes and let a mouth be a mouth.

He thought that this might be a problem. Zayn had never had trouble separating sex and love. He wasn’t faithful to Perrie, but it was a funny relationship, wasn’t it, actively encouraged by their shared management and their being young and hot for each other. It didn’t feel like love, and it didn’t feel like the intensity of the desire that Harry had felt for him, that one night anyway. It was just what it was, when it was, and Zayn didn’t want to hurt her. He thought they better talk about what they were doing, and it turned out that Perrie didn’t love him either, or at least she said she didn’t. A surprise for Zayn about being in a hugely successful boy band was always that there were so many people that wanted him for so many different reasons. It made him want to go to Bradford and hole up with his family. The only people he could trust besides them were his bandmates, and now he didn’t know about Harry. _Harry_. Zayn couldn’t help but think about him, his smooth skin, his curves, his pretty little bum and his big dick. He wondered what would happen when they saw each other again. When he heard love songs, he sometimes thought of Harry.

* * *

** Harry **

Harry got bored of girls pretty quickly. He had grown up with them, and he knew their ways and how to charm them, and they were a bit easy, too much so really. Boys at least could be counted on not to get all emotional, not even Zayn, who loved his family and his bandmates, maybe not always in that order. When Harry saw him again, he seemed just the same, like that night had never happened. He hugged Harry hello and wanted to know everything he’d been doing, and Harry started telling him. 

He was talking the way he always did, and Zayn was listening and nodding the way he always did. Harry relaxed and thought to himself, well, now, I did a good thing and this is all going to be fine, and we’ll just never mention anything about anything. It seemed a satisfactory arrangement, better for Zayn and safer for the band, and wiser for Harry. All excellent. But then Zayn looked down for a second, and his velvety lashes rested against his upper cheeks just so, and Harry found himself blushing and stuttering. What was this, exactly. Harry didn’t recognize himself for a minute. It was Zayn, beautiful Zayn but still just Zayn, so what was happening to his body? He shook his head. 

“What were you saying, Haz?” Zayn asked.

“What? Oh, I don’t know. I guess it’s good to be back, yeah? I’ve got to….” He gestured vaguely in the direction of Louis and took himself for a walkaround. Was he having feelings, and if so what exactly were they? Maybe he just needed to get off with Zayn again. It was probably just bottled up lust, he decided. 

It was several weeks before Harry got to put his theory to the test, and unfortunately for him and maybe for Zayn too it seemed to make him want Zayn more. This was unusual. One and done was Harry’s motto--he had already seen what just a few months with Taylor had done, and he was still a kid who wanted to try everything. He thought maybe Zayn was special and needed two to be done, but it didn’t work out that way. He slipped into Zayn’s orbit without meaning to. He found himself following Zayn around, and looking to Zayn for approval instead of Louis, and laughing a little too loud if Zayn made a joke. Zayn stayed calm and quiet in the way he had, and Harry found himself mugging a bit more for the cameras and talking too much and generally hanging on Zayn too often. It was embarrassing. 

Zayn didn’t seem confused the way Harry was, although he was happy to get off with him. They both got really good at sex together. Harry made Zayn fuck him--he felt like he did sort of make him, because Zayn had thought it might be gross, and he had to reassure him that it wouldn’t be--and then they did that a LOT, because Zayn agreed that it wasn’t gross at all but was pretty much the best. Time passed, and Harry’s feelings didn’t.

Perrie came on tour for a while during a Little Mix break, and Harry was jealous and grumpy the whole time. Then they got engaged, and Harry surprised himself even more by being really mad about it. He had to stop and think about this quite a bit. He decided that he had been mistaken in thinking he was cold, because he was apparently capable of feelings. He didn’t seem to have any control over them.

Harry thought maybe he should write about his feelings, so he did. He wrote a song for Zayn called “Just A Little Bit of Your Heart.” It expressed his feelings exactly.

_I don't ever tell you how I really feel_  
_'Cause I can't find the words to say what I mean_  
_And nothing's ever easy_  
_That's what they say_  
_I know I'm not your only_  
_But I'll still be a fool_  
_'Cause I'm a fool for you_

_***_

_I know I'm not your only_  
_But at least I'm one_  
_I heard a little love is better than none_

  


That made Harry sad, to think that he had expressed his feelings perfectly, because he was a beggar where Zayn was concerned. Still, it was ok until he foolishly gave the song to Ariana Grande, on impulse, and then it was still ok until Ariana told the world that Harry Styles wrote “Just A Little Bit of Your Heart.” He felt exposed. 

Then there was nothing for Harry to do but stop having sex with Zayn and stop speaking to Zayn, and stop acting the fool for Zayn, because he had really let himself get placed at a disadvantage, and this was something that Harry Styles did not like at all.

* * *

** Zayn **

Zayn thought he understood Harry pretty well, because he paid attention, not just to Harry but to everyone. He missed the sex. He missed flirting under the stage lights in front of everyone and having a secret, but he knew Harry felt a bit out of control over it. He had felt a little out of control too, like at some point it had stopped being great sex and started being great something else.

He would have gone back to pulling girls, but he was struggling. Louis and Liam had taken over a lot of the songwriting and a fair amount of the control over what went out under the One Direction brand, that’s what Liam called it, and Zayn felt increasingly like his music would never be heard as long as he stayed. He was tired of touring, and he had lost weight. He didn’t have any energy for eating or fucking or talking during interviews. Later he would realize he had been anxious and depressed, but at the time it just felt like there was no joy left for him.

He talked to Simon. He said he wanted to go, and Simon reminded him of his contract and the money he would be giving up. Zayn didn’t care. He said he still wanted to go. Simon said you should wait until the end of this tour. Zayn said fuck you I’m not going to wait, and the heat of his words was the most warmth he had felt in months. He felt like what he was doing was right. He had to tell Harry, though.

Even if Harry had stopped acting as much like he cared, and even if they hadn’t spent a night together in months, he knew that Harry was just guarding his heart. It wasn’t personal against Zayn, just Harry being the one everyone thought of as the extrovert and the charming one and in his heart being the one who was tired and scared too. He said once to Zayn that he wanted to leave 1D but that he had to honor his contract and respect the fans. Zayn nodded yeah, he felt that too, but now he had stopped feeling it.

He told Harry in Bangkok. He tried to be gentle but blunt. He tried to explain that he couldn’t do any more shows or talk in any more interviews or smile for any more cameras. He tried to explain that he had stayed for Harry, for all the lads, as long as he could, but that he either had to leave or he would break down. 

Harry surprised him by bursting into tears. And then Zayn couldn’t help himself. He went to Harry and wrapped him in his arms, and then his mouth was on Harry’s, inhaling everything he had missed, and Harry was kissing him back like he had been starved for it. They didn’t sleep that night. They both imagined that they were doing everything for the last time and so they did everything they had ever loved doing. And then there were a few days’ break, which was good because Harry broke his heart that night, and he broke Harry’s, and they cried together for the first and last time.

The less said about the last show in Hong Kong, the better. It was the hardest thing Zayn had ever done, showing up for it. He tried to sing “Little Things” to Harry. When it was his solo and he had the line “I’m in love with you” he looked right at Harry. Harry wouldn’t look at him, even though he knew that Harry knew he was singing to him. Zayn accepted that it was over, all of it.

When he got back to London, before he unpacked or called anyone, he pulled out his notebook, and he wrote a song for Harry. Later he would lie and say that he wrote it for their album _Four_ , but by then he lied really easily. And if just hours later Naughty Boy leaked it to SoundCloud, Zayn might have encouraged him to do it, so that Harry would know what he could never say out loud. He called it “I Won’t Mind” because he wanted Harry to know everything was ok. He had cried after he recorded a rough version of it, and it would make him cry every time he sang it, so it didn’t make it on the album he would release in a year, and it would never be a song that Zayn could sing live. He was proud of it, though. It expressed his feelings exactly.

_Don't look around 'cause love is blind_  
_And darling right now, I can't see you_  
_I'm feeling proud so without a doubt_  
_I can feel you_

_'Cause we are who we are_  
_When no one's watching_  
_And right from the start_  
_You know I got you_

_Yeah, you know I got you..._  
_(Yeah, you know I got you)_  
_I won't mind,_  
_Even though I know you_  
_You'll never be mine_

* * *

** Harry and Zayn **

For a long time after Zayn left, Harry and Zayn didn’t talk to each other by text or phone or in person, but it didn’t mean they stopped communicating.


	2. Learning To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Zayn lose each other when Zayn leaves One Direction. They have trouble finding their way back to each other because reasons. Angsty reasons. Smutty reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a bit self-indulgent. I like to think that Zayn and Harry could be as happy as they appeared when they were in 1D together, so *waves magic wand* I made it so. As usual, this is a work of fiction that borrows the names and physical appearances of two celebrities for narrative purposes. As far as I know Harry and Zayn last spoke on March 18, 2015. I would also like to tip the whole cap to those YouTuber Zarries who first saw the patterns in these two idiots' lyrics and caused me to look at them for myself. As either aforementioned idiot might say, it's so obvious.

** Chapter 2 Learning To Be **

_The palm at the end of the mind_  
_Beyond the last thought rises_  
_In the bronze decor_

_A gold-feathered bird_  
_Sings in the palm, without human meaning,_  
_Without human feeling, a foreign song._

_You know then it is not the reason_  
_That makes you happy or unhappy._  
_The bird sings. Its feathers shine._

from “Of Mere Being”  
Wallace Stevens

 

**Harry**  
Harry ached. He was well trained and polite, or else he would have been howling at the moon and snarling at every human who came near him. He knew that the best thing, the very best thing for him, was to forget about Zayn. He had stopped having sex with him. He had stopped talking to him. Now he just needed to make the happy face he gave the world real.

The more Harry thought about it, the more unfair Zayn seemed and the more that the feelings he had began to affect him on stage. The first night after Zayn left, after the announcement in their Facebook group, Harry was useless. He said to the other boys, “I’m not taking any of Zayn’s parts tonight. Don’t argue with me about it. I’ll go back to what we agreed to before, but not tonight. I can’t. Fuck that guy. He never cared about us.” 

Harry knew, and he knew that Liam knew, and Niall knew, and maybe Louis knew too that when he said “Zayn never cared about _us_ ” he meant “Zayn never cared about _m_ e,” but no one said anything that night in Jakarta. They just took Zayn’s solos without complaint, and Harry got through the show. Still, when Liam reached for Zayn’s high note on “You and I,” even though he nailed it, Harry’s eyes stung. The only thing he wanted to hear was _Zayn_ hitting that note, his long throat displayed as his voice soared. Whenever Harry's eyes filled with tears, if that happened and no one could prove it had, he was able to turn around and grab his water bottle or start his spastic dancing or make fun of someone in the crowd. After a hundred years the night was finally over. It was in the hotel room after that the loss hit him. 

Harry knew that he had created this monster. He knew that Zayn had stayed for him, for a time at least, and he knew that his coldness had finally destroyed Zayn’s compassion and made him believe that he wasn’t needed. Harry did this to himself, and the realization made him so ill that he couldn’t keep anything on his stomach for days.

It was Louis, because Louis had a cruel streak and a long memory, who sent him the SoundCloud link to Zayn’s song “I Won’t Mind.” He didn’t have to click on the link. It would have been better not to click on the link. He clicked on the link, growing more and more angry and heartbroken the longer he listened. The final insult to injury, the icing on the cake, the straw that….apparently, having feelings made Harry think in cliches. It was like his mind was doing interviews with clueless “music journalists.” Fuck. He played the chorus again:

_'Cause we are who we are_  
_When no one's watching_  
_And right from the start_  
_You know I got you_

_Yeah, you know I got you..._  
_(Yeah, you know I got you)_  
_I won't mind,_  
_Even though I know you_  
_You'll never be mine_

Is this what Zayn told himself to justify abandoning Harry? Is this what he believed? Like Harry’s every glance didn’t scream love and devotion. Like for months, for years, he didn’t devour every inch of Zayn when he got him alone. Like he didn’t follow him around like a puppy even when he had stopped speaking to him, stopped having sex with him. It was so unfair. Harry resolved then and there that he was going to live his best life, without Zayn Malik, who obviously never had the heart Harry had credited him for. It never occurred to Harry that he might have been flattered and reassured by the song.

And so Harry got out his moleskine notebook, the one with song lyrics and love notes and all his ideas that he couldn’t share with anyone, and he started writing a song. Zayn wasn’t the only one who could express his feelings. Harry could do it too. For some reason, though, the song ended up sounding sad instead of righteously indignant.

A few months later, Harry heard that Zayn and Perrie had broken up and that Zayn had signed with RCA. The wound of Zayn’s betrayal was reopened, and Harry allowed himself ten minutes exactly to sob alone in his room, and then he went out and got drunk and pulled an especially fit boy, whose dark, wavy hair and doe eyes reminded him just a tiny bit of Zayn. This was a bad idea all around and did not make him feel better.

The next day, Harry looked in his notebook and found the song, the one he wrote right after Zayn left, and he worked on making it as strong an expression of his feelings as he could, and he called Ross to leave a message saying, hey I’ve got a new song, can I run it past you? 

He made a second call that day to Modest, and he said as plainly as he had ever spoken anything in his life, “I am out of this band. You can re-negotiate nicely with me so that the door is open for a someday reunion, and we can call this a hiatus, or I’ll pull a Zayn and tell the world how much I’ve hated this all along, and I’ll see you in court.” Harry felt better for the first time since Zayn left, because fuck this, he was exhausted too.

Before Ross could even help him revise his song, refining the lyrics and making the melody radio-friendly for the band, Harry sat down with his favorite acoustic Gibson and recorded a demo on his iPhone. He sent it to Zayn that same night, before he could think better of it, because Harry always followed his impulses even if he regretted them later. The memory of Zayn seemed so beautiful to him in those days when he was first absent, and Harry longed for him in a way that made him physically ill. He poured out all this longing and feeing ill and appreciation for Zayn's beauty into his song. He recorded and saved the fragment that was absolutely not going to be changed in any way, and then he sent it to Zayn, with a text that said simply, All the love always, H.

* * *

 

**Zayn**  
It took a few days after he left Hong Kong and returned to the UK for Zayn to be able to move around without feeling that he was going to topple over at any second. He had thought that One Direction was his problem, but his problems followed him to London, parked in his sitting room where he spent most of his time, and then wormed their way under his ribs and lodged in his heart, where they pierced him like a knitting needle jammed between his ribs. After a few days his heart had eased slightly, but then the official announcement came out on the Facebook group, and his phone blew up, and there were media vans outside his gate, and the needle pierced his side again and doubled him over.

It was in the midst of this pain and regret and longing, which went on for weeks, that one day he heard his phone ping with the text sound he had assigned to Harry many months previously. Harry. Zayn hoped, for a moment, that Harry’s text would say, “Come back, Zayn. We can’t make it without you, Zayn.” But he knew it couldn’t be true and he wouldn't go back anyway. He was keeping up with the tour and with Harry’s behavior on stage. Harry grabbed his crotch and ran his long fingers up and down his torso as though he knew that the world was watching and wanting, that Zayn was watching and wanting. Zayn’s dick swelled, watching him, but he couldn’t wank, he couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly as the most beautiful and charming boy he had ever known carried on without him.

Zayn did not know if he should see what Harry texted. He couldn’t not see what Harry had texted. He opened it, read the message, and then clicked on the mp4. Harry’s Gibson and his slightly gravelly voice came through the hiss of the recording.

_If I could fly, I'd be coming right back home to you_  
_I think I might give up everything, just ask me to_  
_Pay attention, I hope that you listen 'cause I let my guard down_  
_Right now I'm completely defenseless_  
_For your eyes only, I'll show you my heart_  
_For when you're lonely and forget who you are_  
_I'm missing half of me when we're apart_  
_Now you know me, for your eyes only_  
_For your eyes only_

 

Zayn thought that of all the cruel things that Harry had ever done, this might be among the cruelest. It was so utterly selfish, so Harry to think of only how he was feeling and nothing of how hard it had been to leave. Zayn decided then and there that a. he was not going to respond, not even with a word, and b. he was going to start writing his album, because he had a lot to say. It never occurred to Zayn that he might have been comforted by the song, nor that he might have wanted to comfort Harry in turn. He never thought that Harry was asking Zayn to invite him to love him. 

* * *

**Harry and Zayn**  
Harry and Zayn were unhappy, but they didn’t have the tools to end their unhappiness, which might have been honesty or vulnerability or compassion for each other. Instead, a coldness settled between them like winter.

* * *

 

**Harry**  
If you had asked Harry what he had learned of Zayn after living in his back pocket for most of five years and then thinking about every interaction for another full year, he might have said that Zayn liked a lot of sex and that Zayn wanted company a lot for someone who didn’t seem to enjoy it particularly. That’s why Harry wasn’t surprised when shortly after splitting up with Perrie Zayn appeared to take up with the Victoria’s Secret model Gigi Hadid. Harry had met Gigi through Kendall. He found her exotic and beautiful but much like Taylor excessively aware of herself. He wasn’t drawn to that in others and wondered if Zayn was, or if Gigi was just the first beautiful person to present herself.

Harry was rarely angry and even more rarely held a grudge; he tried to remember that. It didn’t help. He was furious with Zayn for allowing Harry to get away. Yes, he had made jokes about Zayn in the months that followed his departure, but it was normal for Harry when he was hurt, and Zayn knew that. He knew better than anyone. Harry kept expecting Zayn to text him or DM him on Twitter or Instagram, but he didn’t. 

And then “Pillowtalk” leaked, and a few days later Zayn and Gigi released a video. Harry watched it repeatedly, looking for clues. Did it seem that Zayn was in love with Gigi? He seemed to like having her next to him, and Harry, in the privacy of his own jealous heart, had to agree. They looked great together, as good as he had ever looked with Zayn on their best days. But Zayn didn’t look happy, and the song wasn’t for this woman he had known a few months. If Zayn thought it was, he was kidding himself.

_I love to hold you close, tonight and always_  
_I love to wake up next to you_  
_I love to hold you close, tonight and always_  
_I love to wake up next to you_  
_So we'll piss off the neighbours_  
_In the place that feels the tears_  
_The place to lose your fears_  
_Yeah, reckless behavior_  
_A place that is so pure, so dirty and raw_  
_In the bed all day, bed all day, bed all day_  
_Fucking in and fighting on_  
_It's our paradise and it's our war zone_  
_It's our paradise and it's our war zone_  
_Pillow talk_  
_My enemy, my ally_  
_Prisoners_  
_Then we're free, it's a thin line_

__

It was, Harry was certain, his song, expressing the push/pull that had always been between him and Zayn. It was him and Zayn who had "pissed off the neighbours" in their hotel rooms, with their occasionally loud sex, and he and Zayn with "reckless behavior." Everything fit. He stopped watching the video and Gigi’s smug face--because it was clear to Harry that she loved that the world would think the song was about her--and just listened to the audio, letting the words wash over him: “Climb on board/We’ll go slow and high tempo/Light and dark/Hold me hard and mellow….”

Harry thought of the contrast of Zayn’s dark hair against the white hotel pillows, and his wide eyes holding Harry’s gaze. He thought of the nights when Zayn had seemed like the only religion he would ever need. His fingers trembled. It took three tries, but he sent a text to the last number he had for Zayn: 

_our song yeah, i dont feel free i need to see you_

He watched the digital wheel spin as the message made its way, and then saw with dismay the red “not delivered” appear. So he didn’t even have Zayn’s phone number any more. Zayn was free at least. He would give him this time, Harry thought. He would write, and he would wait.

* * *

**Zayn**  
Everything was going so well. His girlfriend was one of the most beautiful models in the world. He had a number 1 song on the charts. Everyone it seemed was talking about the video for the song. He had made a record of his own music, and he was proud of it. He should have been happy. Instead, his head was full of Harry, what Harry must be doing now that he’d left Modest, now that he had a friend on his side in Jeff. 

He trusted Harry to be smart about his career, smarter than Zayn would ever be, but he longed for a conversation. Zayn had heard reliable rumors that the “hiatus” was essentially Harry saying "you can do this my way or I will call it the end of the band,” and he felt a grudging admiration for how Harry managed to know his own worth without being arrogant. He had always loved that about Harry, how he could encompass these contradictions, being cold-hearted and yet kind, crying easily but able to cut Zayn out as though he’d never been there, fully aware of his impact and yet the most polite celebrity anyone ever met. People loved Harry. Zayn loved Harry, he was dismayed to realize. If he knew anything, and Gigi regularly questioned whether he did, he knew that loving Harry Styles was a bad idea. Just ask Taylor Swift if you didn’t believe Zayn.

Still, he missed Harry, so when he dropped a single in early March, in their most significant month, he hoped that Harry would reach out. He wanted Harry to know he was proud of him and … something else. He didn’t want to think about it.

_Hey, what's up? It's been a while_  
_Talking 'bout it's not my style_  
_Thought I'd see what's up_  
_While I'm lighting up_  
_It's cold-hearted, cold-hearted_

_Know it's late but I'm so wired_  
_Saw your face and got inspired_  
_Guess you let it go, now you're good to go_  
_It's cold-hearted, cold-hearted_

He knew Harry thought of himself as cold-hearted. Zayn couldn’t resist the little dig, especially since a little feeling had slipped in at the end of the song. He almost took it out, but he remembered how good the sex was and conveniently forgot the other parts that weren’t so easy to parse.

__

_It's okay to want me, 'cause I want you_  
_Been thinkin' it over, but I'm through_  
_So stop wasting all my time, messing with my mind_  
_It's cold-hearted, cold-hearted_

He was proud of Harry for leaving the band. He knew he was making music, and that it wouldn’t sound like boy band pop. He thought probably Harry would get in touch. But there was silence. It never occurred to Zayn that he could get in touch with Harry.

Zayn had to admit that Harry was all through _Mind of Mine_ , from the intro where he welcomed Harry in, to see Zayn stripped of all his pretenses and all his insecurities, to the last line of the bonus tracks exclusive to Target (don't ask Zayn about RCA's deal with Target, because he cannot). He thought of Perrie a bit in the early days of writing and of Gigi a bit in the later days, but always he saw Harry, his long and lovely body hunched over in laughter, his gaze the clearest and most direct Zayn had ever tried to meet, his velvet skin covered in random, stupid tattoos. Zayn had tried to tell him to put more thought into those tats, but Harry would be Harry and act on impulse. Zayn saw that Harry’s hair was long enough now to braid, and Zayn wanted to feel that silk through his fingers. That wasn’t all he wanted.

He wanted to suck on Harry’s sensitive nipples. He wanted to push his plush ass cheeks apart and tongue his hole until it was wet and quivering, he…..he had to stop thinking pornographic thoughts like these. His feelings were all out there. He said _everything_. He would wait for Harry’s reply, but just in case it wasn’t plain enough, he chose “It’s You” as one of the three songs he performed at the iHeart Radio Festival. 

_I won't, I won't, I won't_  
_Cover my scars_  
_I'll let 'em bleed_  
_So my silence_  
_So my silence won't_  
_Be mistaken for peace_

_Am I wrong for wanting us to make it?_  
_Tell me your lies_  
_Because I just can't face it_

_It's you, it's you_  
_It's you._

It was so obvious that he was embarrassed at how obvious. He referenced “If I Could Fly.” Even Harry, not always the most observant person in the world, would see it. He would wait. He had to wait for Harry to respond. 

It would be a year.

When Harry’s “response” came, Zayn wasn’t sure if it was a reply or a dismissal. First Harry sent Zayn a message. He whited out his social media on March 25, 2017. Zayn flushed when he saw, because he knew Harry chose the date two years exactly after his official departure from the band. He answered back in a tweet:

_Clouded in your love but ill follow it_

It seemed so bold, that tweet. Zayn knew Harry was communicating with him, but he didn’t understand what he was saying with “Sign of the Times.” He listened to it over and over, trying to extract the deeper meaning in Harry’s obscure words. This had always been Harry’s way, after so many years of media training, the natural reserve so few understood about him, and his lack of ability to articulate his feelings. But what the fuck did this song even mean? It never occurred to Zayn that he could ask.

* * *

**Harry and Zayn**  
Even though neither Zayn nor Harry could fairly be called boys any more, they were, through no real fault of their own, emotionally stunted. It wasn’t good for kids to be snatched out of Learning Life Lessons and dropped directly into Your Shit Smells Like Roses, but that’s what had happened. No wonder they were idiots.

* * *

 

**Harry**  
Harry thought he would hear from Zayn after he released “Sign of the Times.” Sure, he had changed his phone number. He had to every few months, to stay ahead of the hackers. Zayn knew that, probably did it too, but Niall always had the current number. And there was Twitter; they still followed each other. Harry kept following Zayn for this reason, so that Zayn could DM like he would a hookup, and Harry felt just as vulnerable as one of them. Surely Zayn understood “we never learn, we’ve been here before” and “why are we always running from the bullets?” They never learned. They were always running away from each other. It was obvious.

It was physically painful for Harry when the album dropped. He knew he had to do interviews, and he knew he would be asked about all the songs. He had made up some bullshit about not wanting to put a particular interpretation on any particular song, but he also knew that when he got rattled he sometimes gave things away in spite of himself. Mostly he thought that Zayn would hear “Meet Me in the Hallway” and “From the Dining Table,” and he would know that those songs were his. They couldn’t be for anyone else. 

The first time Harry sang “Meet Me in the Hallway,” he felt like his skin had peeled away from his body and all his soft tissue was exposed. He couldn’t smile or joke or demonstrate his famous Styles charm. He just got through it. Still there was nothing from Zayn. Harry decided that he had been wrong about whatever was between them, and that Zayn was in love with that bitch-faced model, and he needed to get on with his life. For a while, that’s what he did, but then Zayn released “From Dusk Till Dawn,” and Harry felt like a drug addict who had relapsed.

The whole song seemed to belong to him, but a small section of it seemed like an answer to “From The Dining Table.” He listened to it on repeat all morning, telling himself that he just wanted to be sure before he did anything stupid.  


_Baby, I'm right here_  
_I'll hold you when things go wrong_  
_I'll be with you from dusk till dawn_  
_I'll be with you from dusk till dawn_  
_Baby, I'm right here_  
_Go, give love to your body_  
_It's only you that can stop it_

Even though Harry had made some shit up, as always, Zayn knew "played with myself where were you?" was his. So Zayn said that he would never be alone. Harry wanted to know if he meant it. He texted Niall:  


_hey its been too long do you have zayns phone number its kind of urgent_  


It was a shit thing to do, but once Harry decided something, he just had to have it done. It seemed like forever but was probably a couple of hours before Niall texted him back with the number and a “nice to hear from you Haz ha ha.” He would fix that later. For now he needed to break the silence.  


_do you mean it that ill never be alone where are you can i see you_  


Seconds later his phone pinged, the text tone that belonged to Zayn.  


_i meant it of course i’m in nyc where are you_  


_on tour but ill be in nyc soon could you come to the show or meet me after_  


_yeah is there a way to be at the concert on the dlow_  


_ill arrange it_

He did. He arranged it. Zayn hired a car with blacked out windows to deliver him to Madison Square Garden to see Harry for the first time in over two years. Harry played “Just A Little Bit of Your Heart” especially for him, and he tried to hide his happiness at knowing Zayn was there, listening. He resolutely didn’t look up at the box seat he had reserved for him, because he knew Zayn would come in late and leave early to avoid being seen, but a few times he couldn’t stop himself. He knew he would be waiting for Harry at his hotel. He already had a key card.

* * *

**Zayn**  
The thing was, Harry looked so good. You wouldn't think someone with Harry’s coloring could wear that shade of blue, but fuck if he couldn’t. His concert suits were amazing, really. Zayn fancied himself pretty stylish and more so for being with Gigi, but Harry was coming into his own. Zayn watched him on stage, heard him sing “Just A Little Bit of Your Heart,” and then he slipped out to wait for him. He knew it would be hours, but it had been years already. What were a few hours in the scheme of things?

Zayn had fallen asleep on the sofa by the time he heard the door to the suite open. He had found a blanket in the front closet, and then a bit later he got hot and took off his jeans and hoodie. He realized as Harry entered that he was wearing a tee shirt and pants, nothing else. Well. In case Harry was wondering if Zayn was available, this should ease his mind.

“Hey, Haz,” he said sleepily. “What time is it? Did you have a good show?”

Harry didn’t answer him. Instead, he came over to the sofa and slipped his hands under the blanket as though he and Zayn had seen each other yesterday.

Zayn gave himself away with a sharp intake of breath at the feel of Harry’s hands on his hips. Then Harry was pulling the blanket off him and mouthing at his dick through his pants, and Zayn was wondering if he could look down at Harry’s pretty red lips without shooting into his underwear like a teenager. 

It turned out that he _could_ look, but the sight of Harry’s short hair making him look so young and pretty caused Zayn to feel absolutely filthy. He might have stopped things from suddenly having Taken A Turn, but then Harry was yanking down his briefs and engulfing him with his warm mouth, making him remember that voracious quality of Harry’s that alone would have made Zayn hot for him, even without the charm and looks and personality. He came down Harry’s throat, and Harry swallowed it all and hummed his satisfaction. 

It was all lovely and made Zayn feel clingy and nostalgic, so he overcame both emotions by asking Harry to give him ten minutes, because Zayn was justifiably famous for his short refractory period. He kissed his taste inside Harry’s mouth and let himself enjoy the experience again of what a great kisser Harry was. it seemed safer to kiss than to talk. He made Harry get the lube he knew he would have, and then he slathered some over his fingers before spreading his legs, tilting his hips, and sticking first one finger and then three inside his hole. It hurt a bit; it had been a while. It was worth it for the look on Harry’s face and the feel of Harry’s cock breaching him after so long away. He inhaled deeply as Harry lifted Zayn's legs over his shoulders and buried himself inside him. It was good. Harry still fucked like a god. He had missed this. 

They were the masters of bad timing, Zayn thought. They had fallen asleep on that sofa together, and then the next thing either knew it was morning, and Harry was getting a wakeup call that meant he had to check out and make his way on towards the next stop. He had to get up to answer the house phone, so Zayn at least got to admire the lines of his back and the curve of his ass. He hung up and turned to Zayn, a tragicomic expression on his face.

“I have to go. I can’t believe we fell asleep. We’re shit at talking, Z. Fuck.” He laughed helplessly while at the same time getting up and moving around the room to collect things. 

“I’ll stay here, yeah? I’ll slip out after you’re gone, ok? You were amazing last night, H. I love your music. It’s all you. Come here for a second. Let me kiss you anyway. We’re not mad anymore, right? We can kiss each other?”

“We can kiss each other,” Harry answered decisively. He bent over Zayn on the sofa and gently, gently pressed his lips to Zayn’s. The feel of them was electrifying, and Zayn couldn’t help but reach for Harry, bring one of his knees between his own on the sofa, deepen the kiss into something more than sweetness, and then they were pulling at the blanket and pulling off pants and rubbing against each other. 

It had been so long, it had always been so good, it was so relieving that it was still so good, that they both came from friction alone in just a few minutes. They laughed at each other. “We’re still like teenagers, H,” Zayn noted. “I’m not like this with anyone else.” 

“No, me neither. And now I’ve got to go before Jeffrey is in here embarrassing us both.” 

Zayn waited a long time in the room for Harry to be well away. He thought about Gigi working and probably fucking girls, as he knew she did sometimes. They weren’t exclusive. It wasn’t that way between them. It was always only Harry who mattered. He made every other relationship pale by comparison. 

And then Zayn realized that he and H. had failed to make any plans to see each other again, or to talk about what had happened to them and between them, and so then when he was interviewed for Billboard he said some really stupid shit about never really talking to Harry. 

And so he didn’t talk to Harry. He followed him on tour through YouTube videos. He saw all his beautiful suits and laughed at his interactions with fans and his crazy attempts at dancing. Such a rock star, his Haz. He missed him terribly, which somehow didn’t translate into anything.

* * *

**Harry and Zayn**  
Harry’s tour lasted forever, it seemed to Zayn, and in the meantime he broke up with Gigi and then sort of got back together, in the sense that she really considered him useless at managing his own life and couldn’t help but take care of him. Every now and then he would post something for Harry on YouTube, and then Harry started playing “Medicine” on tour. 

Zayn watched the video when it first came out, and he actually blushed. He couldn’t tell if Harry was referring to him and their love for oral, or if he was fucking every boy in sight on tour, but it was arousing to watch him. Most nights he would point to his mouth when he sang “Here to take my medicine,” and Zayn would imagine those lips around his cock, and then he would wank furiously and feel embarrassed afterwards. 

They seemed destined to be apart. Zayn pined, and he posted new material and covers, all for Harry, and got no closer to releasing a second album or resolving anything with Harry or with Gigi. He smoked a lot of weed and hung out with producers who also smoked a lot of weed. It was a way to get through days if not much of a life. He set up a home gym and started working out. Harry got papped leaving the gym a lot, so he must be making himself really hot for someone. Zayn didn't like to think of Harry being all buff while he was weak. It never occurred to him or to Harry that they could be working out together.

* * *

**Harry**  
Harry woke up early, usually around 6, when he was in California. It was one of the things he loved about living somewhere sunny, that he never needed to set his phone alarm or ask anyone to give him a wake up call. Being in London, he could sometimes sleep until noon if nothing interrupted him, so it was a bit surprising when the ping of his phone announcing a text message actually woke him up. He had come to sign some paperwork for the second album, do a phone interview for Vice’s online magazine, and go up to see his mum whilst he was here. 

As was his habit wherever he woke, he stretched fully and luxuriously, debating about whether he needed a wee, and then reached for his phone to see if he had missed anything exciting overnight and what the text message was. Probably Grimmy--they were supposed to have lunch later. Oddly, there was a message from Liam with a YouTube link. Jesus. Was Liam so desperate for views that he was now seeking them from his former bandmates? Yeah, alright.

He clicked the link, but the first thing he noticed was Zayn’s name in all caps: ZAYN: Fingers. He glanced up at the screen: a bluish purple background, a single feminine hand with black fingernails. On second glance the back of the hand was a bit wide for a girl and the fingers were long rather than particularly feminine, the knuckles prominent and knobby. The nails were probably too long for a boy’s, though. So intentionally ambiguous. So Zayn. 

He had heard that Z had released a new single, and that fans were speculating that it was about him. Harry had been afraid to listen to it. But there was a reason Liam sent this to him, he thought nervously. Now was as good a time as any. The opening was eerie, but then the lyrics started in Zayn’s sexy smooth tenor:

_Fucked and I want ya_  
_Looked and I loved ya_  
_Stuck, now I need ya_  
_Hopin' I'd see ya_  
_Touch and I feel how_  
_Much can you see her, no_  
_Hiding all your features, sliding down the filter_  
_Show me, you just in the middle_  
_Don't be hiding what you thinkin'_  
_I've been fucked and I want ya, I can't even text ya_  
_'Cause my fingers ain't working, but my heart is_  
_If you wanna let me know where you are, b,_  
_I could come and love ya (I could come and love ya)_

Harry listened to it all the way through. It turned him on to be honest. Z’s silky voice asked him, “Where’s the shame? No shame in what you need,” and Harry felt his dick plump. He missed Zayn. He had never stopped missing him. He missed seeing his alien prince face, its perfect features rendered imperfect in mobility, his voice, speaking and singing, always sounding like sex, his thoughtful tattoos, every one a story, most of them part of their story, the jokes he only ever whispered in Harry’s ear. He jammed a hand in his shorts and wanked furiously. With a groan he was coming, imagining Zayn's mouth around him, long lashes sweeping sexily across his upper cheeks in that way that they did. Ugh. 

Without thinking too long or hard, he texted Liam:  


_whats his number now_  


A California number came back without comment. He texted it without thanks.  


_Z was that for me it made me come where are you_  


He was never good at maths, and his message was probably hitting Zayn’s phone at 5 in the morning or something. He had just promised himself not to be impatient about hearing back when his phone pinged again:  


_it was it is where are you_  


_in london where are you_  


_hah cali at the place in lc you know where_  


_ill text you when i get back prob a week?_  


He started composing the reasons he was going to give his mum for not making it home. He was looking forward to it but seeing Zayn was more important than anything.  


It was ten days before he could get everything done in London. Apparently he was spending too much time in the US because he had people he had to see and business he had to take care of. He was able to move the interview with Timmy up a day so that he could go into the London office of 1-D to make the call to New York.  


It went really well; if Zayn were not maybe sorta kinda back in the picture, he might have flirted with Timmy and invited him out to Malibu. There was a vibe between them for sure, but he thought Timmy was otherwise engaged too, judging by what neither was willing to say. 

He texted Zayn a few times, to keep him updated, but also to tell him stupid jokes and to make sexual innuendos. So everything was good, and everything was taking way too long.  


He did something he tried not to do and texted Jeff:  


_i really need to get back to Cali privately can i borrow your plane sorry xx_  


To Jeff’s everlasting credit, he replied simply with “when?” Then at last Harry was on California soil and on his way home to Malibu. It was six pm when the car dropped him off, so the traffic was going to be terrible for at least two more hours. He texted Zayn with an estimate, thinking that this time they were going to talk, not just have sex. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that but oh well.  


He threw himself into the shower, grabbing the lube on his way in. He prepared himself carefully, just in case, but then it got him overly aroused and he had to take care of it. He knew he was being presumptuous, but they had always had incredible sex, better than with anyone before or since for Harry. He wanted to be ready. He reflected, maybe for the first time ever, how selfish he had always been with Zayn and how little Zayn had seemed to mind.  


It should have always been up to him to be the first one to break, up to him to do what Zayn couldn’t, and yet Zayn had broken over and over for Harry. Harry had always been the fearless one. Why had he demanded Zayn change? He felt a surge of affection and guilt for his beloved introvert and a renewed need to see him and talk. He threw on the first clothes he found hanging clean in the closet and made his way out to the garage. He would take the Prius, the car he rarely drove because it provided such good cover when he needed it. He was going up into Laurel Canyon, to Zayn. One last text:  


_GPS says ive a two hour drive leaving now_  


And so, with an involuntary smile lighting his face, Harry took the alley out onto the street behind his own and made his way to Zayn’s California home. He knew Zayn thought it was new to him, but he had known about it ever since Zayn bought it. He had been an idiot.

* * *

**Zayn**  
Zayn liked the little house he had bought a few years back. It was on the property of a Very Famous Singer and had been the home for her mother-in-law, but then the mother-in-law died, and because the house was on a larger property and someone had died there, Zayn guessed, it sat on the market for a year. When Zayn finally bought it, it had had its price reduced three times, and it seemed like a bargain to him, with his London/New York price sensibilities. It had two bedrooms, and Zayn had made one into a home studio. He had a small pool with a cabana with a weight room and treadmill. He had tried to make use of all the special facilities whenever he came to California. He came more regularly than he was prepared to acknowledge. 

He liked being in the same geographical area as Harry, even if Harry never knew.  


Zayn expected that best case Harry would be an hour and a half, knowing the way he drove, but now that he was going to see him he couldn’t wait. He went out back to sit beside the small pool. He smoked three cigarettes, considered a joint to relax him, then decided he wanted to be sober for the first time he’d seen Harry in over a year. Instead he lifted weights and ran on the treadmill.  


Then he realized how unfortunate it would be if Harry showed up and found him all sweaty like this. Should he shave? Was that presuming too much, that he might have his face buried in Harry’s ass, licking and sucking at his hole, in just a little over an hour? He wanted it more than anything.  


He would shave. He would wear tight jeans and a tight tee so that Harry could see where he had developed muscles, making himself more sculpted for Gigi, he had told her, but always doing everything for Harry, with Harry’s reaction in mind. Already he could see Harry’s eyes raking down his torso and back up, and the slow, approving smile that would show his dimples.  


Zayn thought that if he couldn’t see that smile again he might die, and then he laughed at himself. He always called Harry the drama queen. He was still going to dress for sex. Just in case.  


One hour and thirty-one minutes later, the gate creaked open, and Harry’s nondescript 2016 Prius pulled up to the driveway. Zayn watched from the window, unable to conceal his eager grin. As the driver’s door opened, he saw that Harry’s hair was at that funny length again, the one that had prompted so many head scarves back in their 1D days. 

He was wearing a really stupid tropical print shirt, almost completely unbuttoned as usual, and what Zayn had begun to call privately his grandpa pants, loose pleated monstrosities that did nothing to reveal the very real beauty of Harry’s lower half. Still he was Harry Styles. He looked beautiful to Zayn.  


Zayn went to the door, opened it, and stood waiting for Harry to walk around the front of the Prius toward the porch. He was grinning, too, Zayn saw.  


Zayn gestured with one hand, indicating vaguely that Harry should come inside. As he passed, Zayn could smell Harry’s shampoo, the one he had used ever since they had had any money, the La Mer face cream that he swore kept him looking like a teenager, and the light musk that belonged to him alone. Zayn inhaled it as he turned.  


Harry stood there, keys and phone in one hand, a soft look in his eyes and the dimpled grin still on his face. 

As Zayn had hoped, Harry’s eyes traveled slowly from his bare feet to his knees poking out of his favorite jeans, to the slx pack and developed pecs he had worked on over the last year. Unconsciously, he folded his arms, revealing his newly developed biceps, and Harry crinkled his nose at those. Zayn blushed again. He was preening for Harry like a peacock.  


He thought of all the things he wanted to say, but the moment he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He took a step toward Harry and then sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around Harry’s thick thighs and burying his nose in his groin. He inhaled again, smelling, he thought, the faint odor of semen. Harry had been with someone else; he might have even traveled with that person. Jealousy flared before he reminded himself that he had no claim on this man and that what mattered, the only thing that mattered, was that Harry was here now, that he could mouth at his cock through those damn grandpa pants.  


“Did you just smell me, Zayn Malik?” Harry laughed.  


Zayn blushed and tried to look sultry instead of jealous.  


“I had to wank in the shower before I left,” Harry explained. “Just the thought of seeing you made me hard as a rock. I couldn’t wait. Sorry. I don’t even know if that’s on the table….”  


“It’s on the table. It’s in the bed. It’s right here. Let me undress you, babe.. I can’t wait. We need to talk, I know, but I need you to come down my throat first. Please, Harry. Let me have it. I’ve wanted it for so long.”  


As he was talking, Zayn was pulling on Harry’s clothes, unbuttoning and unzipping the terrible pants, holding Harry upright as he removed the Gucci loafers Zayn secretly hated and his socks, watching as Harry’s cock fattened and protruded from his trimmed bush. Thank god he hadn’t gone completely California and waxed. He loved the smell of Harry’s bush, always had.  


“Babe,” Harry whispered, “You know how clumsy I am. Take me to bed. I’m ready for you to fuck me.” Oh. Yes, that would also be good.  


Sometime later, Harry stirred. Zayn was curled behind him, his right leg thrown possessively over Harry’s right. Harry was the little spoon, as he always wanted.  


“Don’t go,” Zayn complained.  


“I’m not going. Let’s talk, Zayn. I can say everything I need to say really quickly. C’mon, sit up. We know most of it, don’t we, since we’ve been writing at each other for years now?”  


Zayn felt his anxiety level ratchet up, but he moved himself into position, cross legged in front of Harry on the bed. Harry’s hair was tousled and way sexier than it should have been, his lips red and curved upward in a slight smile, and his skin was glowing from exertion. Harry after sex was so beautiful. Zayn had forgotten. “What do you want to say, babe?” he asked him quietly.  


“Do you keep up with me the way I do with you? I’m much easier, aren’t I, since I occasionally appear in public?”  


“Should I lie or tell the truth?” Zayn laughed. “You know the answer, you narcissist. There’s never been a word written about you or by you that I don’t know by heart.”  


“Have you read my interview with Timmy? It just came out.”  


“Of course I have. I know someone at Vice who sent it to me a couple of days ago. I might have wondered who you wouldn't say by name.”  


“It was you, Z. If I could only talk to one other person for the rest of my life, it would be you." Harry directed his clear-eyed green gaze at him solemnly. 

"We were so young when we started. I had so many feelings for you, and at first I refused to accept that I had them, and then once I knew I had them they scared me. I was so young, and I wasn’t ready to be serious, but I wanted to be serious, and also I didn’t want to be bi, I wanted to be straight, which was stupid but then I was stupid so.”  


Harry sighed softly. The funny thing was that he wasn’t saying anything Zayn didn’t already know--they always had understood each other.  
He marveled again at how willfully they had misunderstood each other as Harry continued. He looked like he had rehearsed these words, and Zayn wanted him to say all of them.  


“And we were under the microscope all the time, and I was afraid of pissing off fans or management or our parents. I just couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry. I was an awful prick. I wouldn’t blame you for hating me, but instead you just kept telling me that it was ok, that we had time, that there was a timeline where we were together. You just reassured me and left me alone to figure it out. I see that now.”  


“Harry, it didn’t cost me anything to understand you. I couldn’t help but do. You don’t--”  


Harry wasn’t finished, and he held a hand up so that he could continue.  


“And you never said anything about my part in why you had to leave the band. You just took the heat until finally Louis, being the asshole he is, blamed it on me properly. I don’t know why you keep forgiving me.”  


“I’ve been a prick too. We were just kids. You’re right--we were too young for all the feelings we were having. I was right horrified that I had fallen in love with a boy, to be honest. But I couldn’t seem to help myself.”  


Harry reached across both their crossed legs to wrap his arms around Zayn’s neck.  


“I don’t know what comes next, Z, but I want it to be with you. We’re not kids anymore. If you are, I’m ready to be out. I don’t want to make an announcement, but just, can we start acting like boyfriends? Like, come stay at mine now? And go out for breakfast with me and hold my hand?”  


“Yeah, Haz. Yes to all of that.”

* * *

**Harry and Zayn**  
Sometimes we break things and we can’t fix them, but sometimes we’re lucky and we’ve just done damage, damage that can be repaired. If we're wise enough, we do the work. 

For their first “real” anniversary, Zayn gave Harry a 300-year-old Japanese Kintsugi bowl, a reminder that they were beautiful in their broken places. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are lovely if you enjoyed the fic at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. The usual disclaimers apply--work of fiction, not based on anybody real, and anyway they never spoke.


End file.
